


miya osamu is not a literature major

by spookysp_ace (summermoonsdawn)



Series: osaaka week 2020 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College, Embarrassment, Firsts, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Osamu meets Keiji's family, background AtsuHina, bc if one player can't then the others can't either, food science major!osamu, in a universe where no one plays volleyball, like a little?, literature major!akaashi, tinest scene with sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summermoonsdawn/pseuds/spookysp_ace
Summary: osaaka week, day 1 || firsts || collegeLike watercolor on a blank canvas, Keiji’s attention turned. His eyes cleared and focused on Osamu, and Osamu stared and couldn’t breath. They had been dating for four months, and Osamu prayed and hoped to whatever in the universe was listening that Keiji would continue to make him feel as if the world settled but spun a little too quick simultaneously.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Series: osaaka week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922587
Comments: 6
Kudos: 96
Collections: Osaaka Week 2020





	miya osamu is not a literature major

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone!! here's my entry for day 1 of osaaka week. i've been focusing more on day 4 (is it day 4...?) and day 7, so i apologize for any inaccuracies or whatever. i've not betaed my work before.... why would i start now :"))
> 
> anyways i hope you all enjoy! if you've read my fic [to hold your hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967986) then Akaashi's siblings may sound familiar. i guess this could _technically_ be like a prelude to that fic but it doesn't matter if you have or haven't read it.
> 
> sorry for the long intro!!! i hope y'all enjoy!! it's a lil different from my other osaaka fics.

_“it’s like this; say there’s a whole room of people and you’re somewhere in the middle of them all. i walk in and i see you, but you don’t suddenly become the only person in the room. god no. you become the room. you are the room.”_

  
  
  


* * *

Osamu is not a literature major. He’d never thought to major in old writings by old people with even older words dragging across the page. The elective composition class he’d taken his sophomore year was a requirement–a stupid one, such a stupid requirement, because he was in _food sciences–_

But Akaashi Keiji?

Akaashi Keiji is a literature major who stood up in his stupid requirement class–glasses adorned on his straight lined nose, dark curls falling over his forehead–and said _words_. Not old words spoken by old people from older writing. They fell across his lips like colored alcohol ink that should have been made into its own novel. 

Akaashi Keiji, without trying, could command a room with a pinch of his brow.

He opened his mouth and Osamu suddenly thought avant-garde was personified and he was sitting five seats away from it.

_The code of bushido is also an underlying theme–_

_But the Minamoto generals could be a foil but that is determinate on the translation you are reading–_

_Because it was based down by oral tradition–_

Osamu would like to say he didn’t make a fool of himself whenever he tried (re: _tried_ ) to talk to Akaashi after class. After all there was no way he should have been a bigger fool than Atsumu when he confessed to Hinata when they were in _high school._ Except Atsumu _had_ by yes, tripping down stairs and nearly breaking an ankle when he crashed into a poor group of first year’s at the bottom of the step. 

It had not started in that order. Unfortunately for Atsumu, as they were walking out of school that one afternoon he’d gathered enough courage to confess, Hinata had his headphones in.

_He’d had his headphones in._

As soon as he’d taken them out, Hinata smiled, all sunshine glory like a fresh Floridian orange. “Sorry ‘Tsumu, what was that?”

Osamu, despite what everyone said, was not the nice twin of the two.

He cackled, full belly–laughed until he had stitches in his side and he had to hold onto a nearby column.

That was when Atsumu tripped on the stairs–not many! Only four steps!

_Smooth_ , Osamu had mumbled because Atsumu still ended up with the tangerine, and they were still together, nearly two years later. And, Atsumu was his brother–what kind of brother would he be if he didn’t make fun of him a little bit.

Atsumu had stumbled and apologized to the students around them, flush high on his cheeks.

“You! You like me!” Atsumu said, voice crack and everything. “Wait, no, fuck! I mean, I like Shoyou!”

Osamu slapped his face in his hands, mumbling _Please make it stop,_ under his breath.

(He has it on video though, despite how much he didn’t want to watch.)

Hinata blinked at him and then at the people around them, but then back to Atumu’s very red face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Atumu had continued rambling, almost shouting:

“I mean! I like _you,_ ” Atsumu continued, appearing to try and cover the blush on his face.

“That’s–” Hinata barely started before Atsumu, _the absolute fucking coward,_ ran away. Full line, bolted across the school campus.

Most of the students that had been outside at that point had turned their attention to the scene, some were whispering (it was hard not to when one of the most talked about guys in school just confessed only to run away, because _he_ was usually the one being confessed to. Not the other way around.) 

Hinata looked at Osamu, “Did he just run away?”

“Yup,” he said with a pop of the _p,_ then sighed, stopping the video on his phone.

Remember: this is about Osamu and Akaashi, and Osamu trying not to make a fool out of himself, but how he did anyways. Because even after Atsumu confessed, even after Hinata and Atsumu had been on more than a few dates; it wasn’t until Atsumu and Hinata had been dating–and Atsumu called Hinata his _boyfriend_ that Hinata had turned confused. That was where the extra foolery turned on.

“Boyfriend?” Hinata had asked.

“Yes?”

“We’re dating?”

Atsumu had turned to Osamu with so much panic in his eyes, Brandon Urie would have run away. 

Osamu couldn’t help but pull his phone out again, deciding to lounge back and watch from the sidelines. 

“Shou-kun,” Atsumu pleaded, “Please tell me ya know we’re dating.”

“I do now?”

“I’ve been holding yer hand!”

“I thought you saw something scary!”

“I kissed you on the cheek!”

“Platonic cheek kisses are a thing?”

Now, thankfully, the confusion had dissipated–it had, again, been almost two years since they’d started dating. 

The embarrassment of it all would never disappear though. 

That being, no one could say Osamu and Atsumu weren’t related after Osamu’s fiasco of an introduction with Keiji. Because Atsumu had made a fool of himself, still ended up Hinata, and Osamu had swore he would never make himself a fool like that. There was no way.

Right?

Wrong.

  
  


•

  
  


With a wave of their hand, the professor had dispersed the class. Students milled about, a couple waiting to talk to the professor as they gathered their things–

“Have ya read the story before?” Osamu blurted as he came up to Keiji’s seat–Akaashi, because at the time he was still Akaashi, and not even that because he didn’t know his name. 

Yet.

The other gave him a slow blink. 

“We have been going over it in class for the past three weeks,” he’d said, raising his beautifully sculpted eyebrows. “I’d hope you had read it too?”

_Fuck._

“Ah-ha,” Osamu scratched at the back of his head. “I mean. It seems like ya’d read it before?”

The other zipped his bag with _whoosh_ , and then he was munching on a piece of what appeared to be store bought onigiri. While he turned the rice over in his mouth, his head cocked to the side. “Are you needing a tutor?”

“What?” Osamu said, perplexed. 

“A tutor. Three other classmates have asked for tutoring sessions, and I don’t think I can add another student to that–”

“No! No, no,” Osamu rushed. “I don’t need a tutor. You just–”

_You’re a performative poet, beautiful with a strange way with words._ How does one say that outloud.

“–this is just a composition class. And most students here aren’t lit majors. They just want the credit. Ya aren’t here because ya just want the credit.”

Keiji had raised one of his brows, just one, but there was the briefest of smiles on his face. “Oh? It’s one of the few classic pieces I enjoy.”

He continued, licking a piece of rice from his lips, “I’m more of a contemporary reader, but the classics are no less important. As far as stories about pride of the samurai, _Heike_ is important to know. I’d much rather be reading Yamada Amy or Miyabe Miyuki. Even Kirino Natsuo–”

Osamu had only heard of one of the writers before. Kirino Natsuo because his mom read them and sometimes when they were on the phone she’d start talking about how she was rereading one of the authors books. Crime, mystery, murder–that seemed to be what he remembered most from those weekly conversations.

“–what about you?”

Osamu startled. The other looked at him inquisitively. “Sorry?”

“Your name?”

“Miya Osamu,” he replied. “Ya can call me Osamu.”

“Sure, Miya-san,” teasing tone falling from his lips.

“And you? Yer name?”

Akaashi bit into his piece of onigiri. His eyes were considering as they looked over Osamu’s face. He looked down, a small smile played on his lips as his fingers stumbled over the wrapper of his onigiri. “Maybe you do need some tutoring if you can’t remember a name, Miya-san?”

Akaashi was at least kind enough to not mention he’d already given his name _twice_ already. He’d brought that up when Osamu had introduced Akaashi a couple weeks later though, to Atsumu’s great delight.

“Akaashi Keiji,” the man said again, his smile turned pleased, “2nd year literature major. What about you, Miya-san?”

“2nd year, food science.”

  
  


•

  
  


Osamu is not a literature major, but he wanted to read Akaashi Keiji like spoken word poetry.

  
  


•

  
  


After one of Keiji’s evening classes, before he was _Keiji_ and still _Akaashi with a small smile_ –Osamu suggested dinner. It wasn’t that unusual. Except Keiji had mentioned this place offhandedly during their shared class as recently opened but found himself unable to go because, well, short story was that it was always full. Long story was that he didn’t want to go by himself–and Osamu only picked that up in the way Keiji had picked at his nails while talking about it, bit at his lip like he could taste the food on those very lips, said in a smaller voice than usual:

_It’s busy during the day,_ Keiji had said, _and there’s a lot of people._

Osamu may have called the shop and asked when their slow hours and days were.

He may have also pulled a couple strings with his nutrition course professor, who happened to be the mother of the owner of the shop.

Lucky him that Keiji was free after that day of classes, and relatively easy to coax away from schoolwork when the prospect of food was mentioned.

“Osamu-san,” Keiji started as they walked into the shop’s doors–the place relatively quiet say for a couple of milling customers (one who looked disturbingly like his professor… Oh no that was definitely her). 

“Hmm?” he responded, giving the owner of the shop a nod while he led Keiji to a table under low lights.

“Osamu-san,” Keiji said again. This time Osamu looked at him.

He had a smile on his face, slate green of his eyes gleaming, _sparkling,_ if Osamu was going to allow himself to stoop to that level of sappiness. 

Keiji took a glance around the room–smaller, several tables, mostly empty, with the employees giving them cooed looks. “Is this a date?”

•

  
  


Akaashi Keiji is a literature major who could, can, always, command Osamu’s heart with four words.

  
  


•

  
  


Four months later, Akaashi Keiji–finally just _Keiji–_ asked him to meet his family.

“Katashi and Kyou are actually going to be in town,” Keiji said, mumbled more like, because his lips were dragging themselves across Osamu’s collarbones forcing a flush to rise across his skin. His hand was somewhere up Osamu’s chest, brushing tips over the hot skin until there were goosebumps. 

_Fuck._

“And my mom wants to meet you,” Keiji said, pulling back until his shared apartment ceiling silhouetted him.

Osamu, finally able to breathe with Keiji’s lips not doing that _thing_ across his bones like liquid silver, stared. His chest was tight even as Keiji pulled his fingers away from his ribs to flitter at the loosened zipper of his pants.

“Me?” Osamu asked, all too aware.

“You,” Keiji supplied, positioning his lips now over the crook of Osamu’s ears.

Suddenly the door of the apartment opened and Oikawa’s voice rang through:

“What did we _say_ about sex in the apartment? Didn’t we make rules?” He practically squealed. “No funny business on the couch! I can’t believe what I have to deal with. I expected this from Kuroo and Semi but not _you_ , Kei-chan! You’re supposed to be my innocent kouhai!”

Keiji looked forlorn. And Osamu would have shared the sentiment except this devil-angel combo of a man just asked him to meet his _family._

_Fuck._

  
  


•

  
  


“They’re gonna destroy ya,” Atsumu said as soon as Osamu got back to their apartment (after he’d had to listen to Oikawa name off the rules of the apartment _again,_ this was the fourth time). Because Atsumu is an asshole, who Osamu should have just consumed in the womb, _that_ was what he said upon being told that Keiji’s family wanted to meet Osamu. “They’re gonna call ya a scrub.”

“I’m not a scrub, _yer_ the fucking scrub–”

Hinata, over under the presumption of studying, came back from the kitchen with cups of tea in hand. And like the angel he was, had dropped in at that moment. Whatever argument Atsumu wanted to make fell from his throat. Instead some lovestruck smile stretched on his face.

“Shou-kun! Tell ‘Samu he’s gonna get destroyed!”

The other looked affronted at the question. “Osamu-san… Why are you going to be destroyed?”

“I’m _not–_ ”

“As the oldest sibling,” Atsumu started, “I have to protect ya.”  
  
“Is Osamu-san being hunted, Atsumu?” Hinata was continually getting more confused, but brightened up then. “I’m the oldest too! I’ll protect you like I would Natsu!”

Osamu groaned, pushing himself as deep as he could into the couch. “Yer not the oldest, ‘Tsumu!”

“Mom said I was the oldest!”

“Well dad said I was the oldest.”

Atsumu grumbled a protest but Osamu watched with mild disinterest as Hinata patted his shoulder and said something like, “You’re the oldest in your heart.” Atsumu scoffed but leaned his head onto Hinata’s shoulder like he was a puppy in need of comfort, a pout pulling his lips down.

Osamu wanted, desperately, to roll his eyes, but found he couldn’t.

“Does Akaashi have a big family?” Hinata asked then. 

Osamu hummed, stretching his legs out before looking at the white ceiling above, and all its blankness. “Three older brothers. A younger sister.”

“Wonder if his family is super refined, y’know?” Atsumu asked. “Playing violin, goin’ to orchestra shit, plays, all that fine arts shit–”

_Are they?_ Osamu had contemplated. From the way Keiji talked about them, ( _They’re annoying, loud,_ he’d said) Keiji might as well have been a green jade amongst hardened stalagmites. The oldest brother was a professional baseball player–

“–probably look like models. Go to auctions for fun–”

–and the second oldest was a musician though. Keiji said he travelled frequently, out of the country, but was in town for a couple of weeks. Osamu remembered he played piano. _Not violin_ , his subconscious helpfully provided. Travelling around the world though? To other countries?

“–and probably buy cars for shits ‘n giggles. How many companies d’ya think they own?”

The youngest of the three brothers was a swimmer. He was training for the Olympics. 

Keiji’s mother was an engineering professor at another university.

The sister, the only sister, at eight years old, did–what? What did she do? Was she taking violin lessons and some magical prodigy?

“–like fine dining too. Tiny, morsel sized dinners. Wait–”

_Fuck._

“What the hell are ya gonna eat?”

Osamu, without realizing it, had slipped down the couch. His butt hit the floor and the universe spun and didn’t _stop._ He dropped his face into the corner of his elbow, pulling his knees close.

_They’re refined, huh? Just like him,_ Osamu concluded. _Pretty words, metaphors, arguments in five languages, maybe some ancient. They discuss trading companies and stocks for_ fun. 

“Atsumu, Osamu-san looks panicky.”

“What? ‘Samu doesn’t _do_ panicky–” he suddenly stopped. He looked at Osamu, whose face hadn’t left his hands. “Oops.” 

  
  


•

That was how he walked into the Akaashi household, and found Keiji standing amongst his brothers with Keiji pinching the bridge of his nose, gold framed glasses tracing the countenance of his closed eyes.

“The _sāla_ flower doesn’t represent lies,” Keiji muttered, as if he’s said this one sentence one too many times already. Keiji was like that, he was patient when it came to most things–but when it came to his brothers, he didn’t typically want to repeat a phrase more than once. “You’ve read _The Tale of the Heike_ once, _once!_ For a high school assignment, I remember because you had to ask _me_ about the theme of impermanence. Should I say you even read it Kenta, when you barely pushed into chapter six?”

One of the brothers was laughing–who Osamu noted as Brother 1–deep chested, and nearly rolling from where he sat on the living room couch. Another one–coined Brother 2–had his phone out, and from where Osamu stood in the entryway, it looked like he was trying to video the ordeal. 

“No! I mean–I read up to chapter fourteen?” the last one said–who woulda guessed it? Brother 3–standing next to Keiji. Though all of Keiji’s brothers were older, and Brother 3 stood taller by a couple centimeters, Keiji’s glare made him look like he should have been the youngest. 

“There are,” Keiji ground out, teeth tight, “ _twelve_ chapters. Only twelve Kenta, I swear–”

Keiji’s mother, Akaashi Masa, put her hand on Osamu’s shoulder. Keiji's mother was strikingly similar to Keiji, chin-length curly hair, same colored eyes, but much shorter. “I’m sorry," she said, "That this is how you have to meet them, Osamu-kun. Keiji said you have a brother, so I’m sure you can understand?”

He could. One of the few things Keiji complained about was his brothers. Especially with the fact that they loved to rile him up–

“–and you think verse and prose are the same _fuck–_ ”

“Keiji!” Masa called. “Osamu-kun is here! Why don’t you come introduce him?”

Like watercolor on a blank canvas, Keiji’s attention turned. His eyes cleared and focused on Osamu, and Osamu _stared_ and couldn’t _breath._ They had been dating for four months, and Osamu prayed and hoped to whatever in the universe was listening that Keiji would continue to make him feel as if the world settled but spun a little too quick simultaneously. 

As Keiji walked towards him, Osamu realized he was claybord. With Keiji, he would not bleed or smudge. He would not run dry, he would not starve because Keiji was somehow the idea and the literalization of being sated. 

“They sound fun,” Osamu said with a smile. 

Long fingers met his wrist and Keiji gave him an adoring half-smile before whispering, “I’m going to murder them.”

Osamu laughed, dropping a kiss on Keiji’s cheek. Keiji in turn smiled brighter, eyes crinkling on the edges.

“Don’t just leave me standing!” Masa said, clapping. “I’ve heard all about him, don’t just hog him for yourself Keiji.”

“The cook is here?”

The hair’s on the back of Osamu’s neck prickled up. Keiji and him slowly turned to the speaker.

“Osamu, this is Katashi,” Keiji said. His fingers slid from Osamu’s wrist before linking together with his fingers. “He’s the oldest. By birthright, he is also the most annoying.”

Headed towards the two of them was the one who had been cackling on the couch earlier. All of the brothers were tall, above average just like Keiji, but Katashi was only a hair taller than Keiji. His form was fitting of a baseball player, like the muscles in his body couldn’t decide where to settle so they were everywhere.

He was imposing. If Keiji looked the most like their mom, Katashi looked the farthest from it–square jaw, eyes dark, hair straight and pushed back from his face.

“This is Kyou,” Keiji said, and Osamu’s attention turned to the other two who’d followed Katashi. 

It was like the younger they got, the more they started to look like Masa. The one named Kyou nodded…

Lastly, there was Kenta, who had a bright smile on his face. He could have been a near twin to Keiji except for the differences in build. Keiji was already lean with muscle, but Kenta was clearly a swimmer with his broad shoulders, lines of muscle going to his neck. 

“You thought _Heike_ had fourteen chapters?” Osamu asked, but grinning down at Keiji.

The other brother groaned, “Look, an honest mistake–”

Keiji closed his eyes. He took a deep breath before sending another weighty glare at Kenta, “It would be an honest mistake if you were _honest._ ”

“Why don’t you go get Momoki from her room, Kenta?” Masa asked, shooing him away. 

“A cook isn’t going to make money,” Katashi said, suddenly, voice in a low drawl. The atmosphere teasing air edged to a cold callousness. Steel-hazel eyes slid to Osamu as he asked, “What about that baseball player friend, huh?”

Keiji’s back went ramrod straight, his hand tightening around Osamu’s own. He opened his mouth, but Masa interrupted, finger pointed at the brother, “Katashi. You are not too old for me to send to your room. You can leave if you’re going to act like that.”

Katashi gwuaffed, affronted. “I’m just saying–”

Keiji’s fingers shook in his own, like he wanted to pull his fingers till they’d come out of their sockets.

“Akaashi-san,” Osamu queried to Masa, “would ya mind if I used yer kitchen tonight?”

Masa blinked, strict shoulders falling. She looked between her sons then to Osamu. “No, no, please do. I’ll show you where it is.”

Osamu followed her, leading Keiji with him. Katashi was left with Kyou in the entryway. He heard Kyou’s exasperated, “ _Really dude?_ ” even as they stepped into the living area.

  
  


•

  
  


It didn’t take long for Osamu to rummage through the well-stocked kitchen to find the ingredients he needed.

“Buta no kakuni?” Keiji asked, slipping beside him, looking across the ingredients laid out. 

Osamu hummed, gazing past Keiji’s glasses. His eyes were downcast, thoughtful, cloudy–all things Osamu wished he could make disappear completely.

“And your mom had nabana in the fridge.”

Keiji perked up, peeking his head around Osamu. “Nanohana?”

Maybe Osamu wasn’t a literature major. He didn’t have fields of metaphors and allegories to choose from but he knew sometimes to speak to Keiji conversations of _I like you_ and _I think I might love you_ had to be woven through the sizzling of food in a pan and the _swoo-swoo_ of a knife on a cutting board.

“Keiji!” Someone called, pulling both of them from the rhythmic movements of a kitchen going to work.

“Momoki,” Keiji said, pulling back from where he’d been leaning close to Osamu.

“Keiji, Keiji! I hit someone at school today!”

The knife in Osamu’s hand fell, clattering on the ground.

“Ah-ha,” Masa said, coming into the kitchen. “Ki-ki, you can’t just say things like that. At least say hi first. and introduce yourself, we have a guest.”

Keiji picked up the knife and while washing it off, Osamu gave his attention to the newest Akaashi in the room. 

Momoki, eight years old, a replica of Masa say for the blonde curls instead of black framing her face. Half of her hair was pulled into a pair of space buns, and her cheeks were shining bright.. Her grin was wide, showing off the couple of gaps of missing teeth.

“Kiki wants to be a baseball player like Katashi,” Keiji said to Osamu. “But she thinks she can hit people with baseball bats.

“Nice,” Osamu said, nodding at the youngest sibling. 

“Yeah!” Momoki said, pushing herself to sit on top of the kitchen counter. “You can’t do that in other sports.”

“Ki-ki, _no,_ ” Masa chastised, suddenly looking tired. “You can’t hit the other players. Now you’re suspended for two weeks.”

“The other kid deserved it…”

Osamu chuckled, putting his hands on his hips, “The other kid being mean?”

“Yeah,” Kiki sighed. Surprise washed over her face as she blinked at Osamu. “You! You’ve not been here before! Keiji, you didn’t tell me you were bringing a boy!”

Keiji scoffed, “You’re _eight_. And mom told you I was coming with Osamu.”

Momoki stared in wonder, before a mischief–similar to Keiji’s own–worked to the surface in her voice. “Keiji’s never brought a boy home before.

“Glad I can be the first then,” Osamu answered. 

“Did you know that Keiji–”

“Nope!” Keiji interrupted. “Out, out! Both of you. Go tell Katashi he’s an asshole for me.”

“Katashi!” Momoki yelled, jumping off the counter and running away. “Keiji said you’re an asshole!”

Somewhere in the house Katashi yelled back: “Tell him to fuck off!”

Masa sighed, “I don’t know why I even try with language anymore.”

With a soft smile, Keiji gave his mom a kiss on the cheek. “It’s not worth it at this point.”

  
  


•

  
  


Osamu is not a literature major. 

He would never be a literature major.

But he could only hope to slot himself into Keiji’s life like a book on a shelf.

  
  


•

  
  


It had taken a couple hours for the buta no kakuni to finish. Osamu and Keiji had fluttered from in the kitchen to the living room where the siblings and their mom had started on a game of monopoly, but ultimately they’d settled back in the kitchen–the nose of the family doused over them and the smell of cooked pork had taken control of the kitchen.

“Mmm,” Keiji practically moaned, giving his unspoken satisfaction.

Akaashi Keiji is not a food science major. He is a literature major. But one of Osamu’s greatest prides is taking the well thought words from his lips and turning them into undignified sounds.

“This is wonderful,” Keiji sighed, taking another forkful.

“Careful,” Osamu said, smile on his face nonetheless. “It’s still hot.”

“Hush,” Keiji said around his food. “I need to eat this before the gremlins come in here and realize it’s finished.”

  
  


•

  
  


Akaashi Keiji is not a food science major. He is a literature major who could, can, always, command Osamu’s heart with three words: _I love you._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacedaichi)
> 
> i'm excited to get the other works finished! it wouldn't be me if i wasn't doing them on the day of, oops
> 
> comments and kudos always, always welcome <3 i can't wait to read everyone else's entries <3


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